The First Mistake(45)

I fell to my knees on the floor where my jewellery box had been upended, too frightened to turn it over, in case I couldn’t see what I so desperately wanted to see. I forced myself to take a deep breath.

‘I’ve popped Tyson back in the kitchen until the rest of the flat is straightened out a bit,’ Thomas said as he entered the bedroom. ‘Are you okay?’

I nodded and counted to three in my head, psyching myself up. Please don’t do this to me, I prayed silently to whichever God was listening. If you’ll just make this okay, I promise I’ll come to church more.

‘Can you see if anything’s been taken?’ he asked gently as I turned over the box.

‘Yes,’ I sobbed, my heart breaking. ‘The necklace my dad gave me, his wedding ring, some earrings.’ I ran a hand over the carpet, willing my fingertips to feel the sentimental items I treasured. ‘The other stuff doesn’t matter, but my dad’s . . .’ I couldn’t hold back anymore.

‘Ssh, it’s okay,’ said Thomas as he knelt down on the floor and rocked me in his arms. ‘We’ll call the police, they might be able to get it back.’

‘No, no they won’t – they never do.’

‘They’ll try. Is there anything else?’

I stood up and rubbed at my head, trying to work the fury and frustration out. I couldn’t even remember what used to be there just a few hours before. Did I still have that fancy camera I treated myself to a couple of years ago? Or had I lent it to Maria? Was my laptop at home or at school? I couldn’t think straight.

The living room was even more of a mess; every piece of paper had seemingly been pulled out of the dresser, where I had developed my own haphazard filing system, and thrown onto the floor.

I looked around the sea of invoices, bills and payslips that lay at my feet. My mother’s will, which she had given me on the strict understanding I wasn’t to open it until she passed away, lay next to its ripped envelope. After twenty years of it being in my safekeeping, I’d allowed a stranger to come along and destroy that trust.

Even seeing the cards that the children from my class had made for me, lying forlornly on the floor, made me cry. Their bright colours and kind words so at odds with the sickening scenario they were now a part of.

‘It’s difficult to tell,’ I sniffed.

Thomas nodded and punched digits into his phone. ‘Hello, I’d like to report a burglary,’ he said, before giving my address. ‘They could be here in five minutes or five days,’ he said as he hung up. ‘There’s not much manpower left in the burglary squad these days.’

‘Can you stay?’ I asked.

‘Of course.’

It wasn’t until I really looked at the chaos surrounding me that I realized how many secrets my home held. I considered myself to be a private person, only letting those closest to me in, yet in just a few minutes, a criminal had found out so much about me. He knew that I was a primary school teacher at St Mary’s in Guildford and how much I earned. He now had all my bank account details and my current balance. Even the seemingly innocuous details about me, such as my eclectic fashion sense, my love of yellow, the book I was reading, and my fondness for the Bront? sisters were all laid bare, making me feel overtly vulnerable. It was only as my eyes caught sight of the solicitor’s headed paper, which my mother’s will was attached to, that I realized that the son of a bitch also knew things that I didn’t even know myself.

I worked my way through the wreckage fastidiously, refusing to allow my emotions to overwhelm the job in hand. But no matter how hard I tried, everything felt contaminated, sullied by a stranger’s touch.

‘Do you want to carry on doing this now?’ Thomas asked as he was putting all my books back in the bookcase. ‘We can do the rest in the morning.’

I looked at him and wanted to cry again.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ he asked.

‘Thank you.’

‘What for?’

‘For just being so kind.’

He looked away, as if embarrassed.

I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge, lifting a bottle of white wine out of the door. ‘I’d rather this.’

‘Yep, great,’ he said, following me in, watching as my shaking hands fumbled with the seal covering the cork.

‘Here, let me,’ he said, and I watched as his strong tattooed arm took the weight of the bottle away from me. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so safe, which was ironic seeing as I was stood in the middle of a crime scene.





19


‘Tell me about your family,’ he said, as we lay in bed later that night.

It seemed momentous, not only because we were talking properly, but because it was the first time that we were in bed without having ripped each other’s clothes off to get there.

‘There’s not much to tell,’ I said. ‘My dad died when I was thirteen and it’s just been me and Mum ever since.’ Just talking about him brought a lump to my throat. The thought of the only part I had left of him – his ring and the necklace he bought me – being in someone else’s careless hands turned my stomach.

‘So, no brothers or sisters?’ he asked.

‘Nope, a spoilt only child,’ I said, forcing a laugh.

‘Me too. Though I bet I wasn’t as spoilt as you,’ he joked.